


Dissonance

by ruthc93



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: M/M, Memory Alteration, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Time Travel Bullshit, post-Season 1, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-10 08:43:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7838158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruthc93/pseuds/ruthc93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Len wakes up to a strong sense of <i>wrong</i>.</p><p>But he sweeps his eyes across the room, and finds nothing amiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dissonance

**Author's Note:**

> Hugely inspired by [coldatomheadcanons](http://coldatomheadcanons.tumblr.com/), with the amazing headcanons and writing they've contributed for this ship.

Len wakes up to a strong sense of _wrong_.

But he sweeps his eyes across the room, and finds nothing amiss. Everything is where it should be. His cold gun lies on the counter by the bed, and his parka hangs by the door to the bathroom. Even his boots that he remembers kicking off the night before are exactly how he expects them to be, lying unorderly on the floor just visible to him from the edge of the bed.

He closes his eyes for a second and searches his memory.

He finds nothing.

Everything is as it should be.

Everything is in order.

It’s _wrong_.

(His bed feels larger than it should be.)

* * *

The feeling lingers.

It’s there when he walks into the cafeteria with Mick. He glances around. Stein and Jax are eating together. Predictable. Sara is listening to something Rip is saying but as soon as she spots them, she smiles and waves them over.

As Len walks over and sits down next to her with a smirk, enjoying the dismayed look on Rip’s face, he notices Kendra out of the corner of his eye, a little distance from the Firestorm duo. Alone.

Like she’s been since Carter died.

He dismisses her and turns his attention to in front of him as Mick plops down on the opposite side of the table, next to Rip, with the captain doing his best not to flinch.

“So what’s for breakfast, Captain?” he drawls.

(It’s too quiet.)

* * *

They go on missions. Plans that are quickly executed, meeting no protests aside from the snide remarks and tactical questions from Len and Sara.

Rip always pauses after finishing explaining the plans, as if waiting for something. Whatever it is never happens.

The missions go well. Without a single mishap. Most of the time. Firestorm still argue a lot. Len still snaps at Rip a lot. Mick still burns more than he needs to. But otherwise, they go smoothly.

They celebrate their victories, and Len swallows the uneasiness with shots of alcohol.

(He wonders why he notices the empty chair. It’s always been empty.)

* * *

He walks into the lab and blinks when he sees Stein.

Len shouldn’t be surprised. Of course it’s Stein. There’s nobody else that uses the lab.

Still, his fingers twitch on his cold gun, and he can’t remember why he walked into the lab in the first place.

(He pockets a small, yellow metal case going out. He’s not sure why.)

* * *

“Kendra’s always alone,” Sara says.

Len looks up from his cards and snorts, “So. Go to her.”

“I shouldn't. She's mourning.”

“Carter Hall was months ago,” he drawls.

Sara frowns. “It's not my place.”

“And why not?”

There is a moment of silence before she shrugs. “Doesn't feel right.”

He doesn't say anything to that, because there's nothing to say.

(Nothing has felt right since waking up that morning.)

* * *

Days pass. Weeks. Maybe months. Whatever. Time is different on the Waverider.

Len dreams. Of soft hair and easy laughter. A smile brighter than the sun. A warm, warm brown.

They always vanish from his mind the moment he wakes up, but the warmth stays.

(He’s never felt colder before.)

* * *

They are on the bridge. An argument around the briefing table that doesn’t lead anywhere and Len sighs, tuning out Rip and Stein’s voices and Sara and Jax’s protests.

His hand finds the yellow case in his pocket, the one he took from the lab on a whim.

(Since when does he do that?)

Stein never noticed it missing.

(Because it's not his.)

He glances up at the arguing team again. They show no signs of stopping, and he rolls his eyes before lazily tinkering with the case.

It clicks open and Len stares.

…a toy…?

Suddenly, images flash through his head, going almost too fast for him to process. A man wearing the toy - the suit - in his hand. Hands tinkering with the suit. One of the hands, curled into a fist, flying at his face. Eyes too big and too brown staring at him with horror. Hair matted with blood bouncing up and down with each step Mick takes. Eyes again, coated with fear and a promise, looking at him through thick, reinforced glass. A hand on his shoulder, tentative and offering comfort, even as he forcefully pulls out of the touch. Pursed lips lined with concern as hands ghost over his bruises. A smile too blinding, eyes too _trusting_ , beaming at him from underneath a cowboy hat.

(An exposed neck, lying against a soft surface, allowing him access. Lips slightly open, growing farther apart as a gasp that vaguely sounds like his name escapes. Flushed cheeks, pressing against his pillow as the man sleeps, expression peaceful and content and _happy_.)

There's a name that comes with the visions. A name that pushes its way to the forefront of his mind and refuses to leave.

When the images finally stop, Len finds himself gripping at the edge of the table with both hands, knuckles completely white. He can feel the others watching him with varying degrees of concern and wariness, but he can't bring himself to care. Instead, his mind grasps at the name that wouldn't go.

“ _Raymond_.”

It feels familiar on his lips. It feels _right_.

“Len?”

Len's head snaps up, and there, right _there_ , standing behind Rip, is the man from the images. The visions. (The _memories_.)

But he's all wrong. He looks…exhausted. Defeated. _Broken_. He's drawn into himself, none of the optimism and brightness from the images present.

Their eyes meet, and the brown eyes (dull, resigned, _wrong_ ) widen in disbelief and shock. The man gasps for breath, placing a shaking hand over his chest and stumbles back, collides with Rip’s vacant captain's seat, and collapses into it.

He sits there, chest heaving, and Len sees something shine in those eyes again. Something that shouldn't have been gone in the first place. Something like _hope_.

Raymond (that has to be his name. _Has_ _to_.) speaks again. Hesitant. Quiet. Shaking.

“…you can… _see_ me…?”

**_To be continued_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or, the one where something happens (enemy weapon? time jump side effect?? magic??? who knows) that erases Ray from the timeline and the team's memories and even tho he's still _there_ , his existence is weak and dependent on the team remembering him and the only reason his consciousness is still around is because the team is too sharp and smart to not notice that something is off.


	2. Desolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ray wakes up alone.
> 
> He frowns, feeling the vacant space beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Ray: I'm so sorry.
> 
> To any potential new characters out there: Don't ever become my favorite character. Ever. Don't do it.
> 
> As a warning to readers:  
> 
> 
> There is also a warning tag that I added which applies to this chapter, which is Suicide Ideation. If you're uncomfortable with the subject, please don't read on. Your mental health is important.
> 
> Also, this turned out a lot longer than I planned it to, which I can't decided if it's a good thing or a bad thing. It's easily almost twice the length of the first chapter. I guess I'll let you guys be the judge of that.

Ray wakes up alone.

He frowns, feeling the vacant space beside him.

“Len?” he calls. He's pretty sure he fell asleep in Len's room last night. One of the rarer nights, where they are both too tired to do much besides lie next to each other and draw comfort from the closeness. Ray secretly hopes those nights can happen more often.

He forces himself up when he doesn't get an answer. Where is Len?

The cold gun and parka are still there, which means he can't have gone far. The boots are gone, so he'd at least gotten up. Is he in the bathroom? If so, why isn't he answering?

“Len?” he calls again, louder this time. He swings his legs down from the bed and stands, about to make his way to the bathroom door when it swings open.

“You _are_ in there!” Ray _doesn't_ pout as Len steps into the room. He moves forward to meet him. “Why didn't you answer m-”

Ray feels the words die on his lips when Len steps towards his direction and- moves _through_ him.

He gasps. Both in shock and at the sensation. It feels _empty_. Like Len's body is negating his own and where they overlap is filled with… _nothingness_. His body freezes even as Len continues forward, through him, beyond him, not slowing down in the slightest.

“What?” he hears himself ask. Hears the tremor in his own voice and he swallows thickly. He turns slowly, eyes finding Len and watching him. The other man is strapping on the holster for the cold gun, but Ray can't focus on that as he steps forward, waving a hand in front of him. “H-hey. Len-”

Len doesn't answer. Instead, he stands up abruptly, grabs and sheaths the cold gun in one fluid motion, and heads for the door.

Ray watches him go, speechless, before panic overtakes him, twisting his insides and springing him into action. He rushes after the retreating figure, reaches out to grab hold of him, to stop him from leaving-

“Wait! Len! _Please_ -!”

His fingers close around Len's wrist and grab thin air. The same sensation of _emptiness_ jolts up his arms.

The doors hiss open, and Len disappears into the hallway. Ray is left alone, breathing hard and staring at his hands in mute horror.

* * *

Ray follows Len. He doesn't know what else to do.

They're joined by Mick a short ways to the cafeteria. Mick grunts at Len and Len smirks back.

Seeing them like this, finally, finally at least _comfortable_ around each other should be rewarding. Should make him smile and be glad that they're making progress but Mick’s gaze travel over him - where he's _supposed_ to be - and all Ray can feel is an icy terror that settles in the pits of his soul when the eyes don't even _focus_ on him.

So it's not just Len, then.

They enter the cafeteria and everyone is there.

He tries to reach out. Tries to speak out but no one hears him. He waves his hands in front of Kendra, in front of Jax. He calls out to Professor Stein, to Sara, to Rip.

He pleads with Mick. With Len.

Nothing works.

Ray steps back, numb.

This can't be happening. He's invisible. Why is he invisible? The team can't hear him. Can't see him. What is he supposed to do? What _can_ he do? What if they never find out? What if he's stuck like this forever? What if-

His train of thought breaks when he sees movement in front of him. Before he can react, _nothingness_ seizes him again and he gasps, freezes, his mind barely registers the team filing out of the cafeteria, all passing _through_ him and none of them _stopping_ and everything is _void_ and it's _too much_ -

The last person goes pass and Ray falls to his knees, gasping for breath as both his hands twist at the front of his shirt in a death grip, afraid to let go, clinging on to the feeling of _being_ again.

As soon as he can think again, he forced himself to calm down. Forces himself to take deeper and longer breaths.

It's ok. It's going to be ok. They'll notice. They'll wonder where he is and he can work on finding a way to tell them.

* * *

It takes a whole day before Ray realizes what is wrong.

He waits. Waits. Waits as he stands as close as he dares to the rest of the team. Waits for them to ask where he is. Waits for them go look for him. For _anyone_ to look for him.

He mostly follows Len. If anyone would notice his absence it would be Len. But he watches as Len sits with Mick. As he plays cards with Sara. As he steals from Rip’s personal stash of liquor and Ray wonders why. Why. Why hasn't he noticed anything?

Why hasn't _anyone_ noticed anything?

There is one possibility, one guess, in the deepest reaches of his mind, but he refuses to acknowledge it.

It isn't until the next day, when Rip calls everyone for a briefing of the next mission, when he explains the plan and everyone's parts and no one questions it that the possibility becomes _reality_ and Ray feels the emptiness overtake him, even though he's standing clear of the others, and he can't _breathe_.

They don't remember him.

They don't _remember_ him.

It's a lot harder to force himself to calm down this time.

* * *

Ray is at a loss of what to do.

It's one thing being invisible. But forgotten as well? How did this even happen? Did something happen to him? Is he dead?

As usual, his overthinking terrifies him and he shuts out those thoughts, distracts himself by figuring out what he can do.

He definitely can't contact anyone. He can't interact with any of the screens. His DNA doesn't register on the ship's scanners and Gideon can't hear him. So he relies on following the others in and out of rooms to get where he wants.

He finds out that he can’t move objects. He phases through whatever he wants to move - at least they don’t negate him like living beings do - but things like walls and the floor feel solid to him. He theorizes that he can't touch things when he's making a conscious effort, and he's proven correct - maybe - when he trips over a spare part in the lab but fails to make contact when he tries to move it out of the way.

Fascinating. Can he phase through walls if he concentrate enough? Through the floors? He needs to find out more.

And, he tells himself that’s the reason why he's at Len's door that night. He hesitates, only for a second, before taking a deep breath and forces his way at the door.

It works.

He's in Len's room now, and the man in question is asleep on the bed. And for a second it almost feels normal.

Suddenly Ray feels his world crash down around him, again, because he knows, he _knows_ that if Len could see him, that if he was…if he _was_ , Len would be awake by now. He'd snap his eyes open and stare at him and complain about billionaire geniuses having too much time on their hands, breaking into innocent people’s rooms in the middle of the goddamn night and Ray would laugh before making his way to the bed and-

None of those things happen, however, and Ray draws in a shuddering breath as his current situation finally sinks in. And it _hurts_.

Slowly, numbly, he makes his way to Len. He carefully climbs over him and lies down, between him and the wall, where he usually lies when they sleep together.

Len doesn't even stir.

Ray curls in on himself, careful not to touch Len, and he can't explain the sudden wetness on his cheeks.

* * *

Ray can't leave the Waverider.

He tries once, more concerned about the current mission the others are executing than his own state of being and tries to follow the team off the ship. He doesn't make it further than one step.

Blank, void, _nonexistence_ envelops his leg and threatens to spread, and he's reeling back, trying to escape until his back hits the wall behind him.

Ray crumples to the floor, breathing hard, watching the backs of the rest of the team move further away.

He doesn't know how long he stayed there. When it feels like he can breath properly again, he reaches out tentatively with one trembling arm.

His hand makes it out the doorway and feels _gone_. He snatches it back and cradles it protectively against his chest.

Ray doesn't try to leave again.

* * *

He can't find his ATOM suit.

* * *

By the 22nd day, Ray is getting more desperate.

He tries, again and again, to reach out to the others, but he never makes contact. All he's left with is the same nothingness that's becoming alarmingly more familiar.

He tries to get their attention. Dares to stand directly in their lines of sight. But all of them look through him, beyond him, never focusing on him, never _seeing_ him and he finds himself avoiding their eyes more and more.

He talks. To everyone. When they're speaking. When they're alone. He talks to Rip about his condition and his theories on how time travel may be involved in this. He talks to Kendra about what he did that day and other “experiments” that he's run to test out his limits. He talks to Sara about home and what he thinks the people they left behind are doing. He talks to Professor Stein about his theories of anything and everything and his memories of his lectures. He talks to Jax about engineering and being young. He talks to Mick about Len, and about how this experience may be similar to what Mick had gone through, before and after the Time Masters, and how he's sorry and he finally, maybe, understands.

And during the nights, Ray finds himself in Len's room. Where he lies next to the thief he's grown to trust as he whispers the what ifs, his doubts, his fears, and his pleas. Where he sheds tears that never make it to the pillow beneath him.

They don't hear him.

* * *

Nothing changes.

* * *

On the 46th day, Ray finally breaks.

The others are celebrating another victory, and he watches them, a smile on his lips. A smile that feels plastered on. Fake. Wrong.

Jax says something, and the whole team laughs. He almost laughs with them.

He isn't paying attention, and he doesn't have time to move out of the way when Len gets up and moves straight in his direction.

He watches the ice blue eyes that don't see him move towards him, into him, and the old feeling of nothingness envelops him again as Len walks through him.

He hears a broken laugh, and it takes him a while to realize it came from him. He laughs again, louder this time. And again. And again. And _again_ until the laughs turn into screams and all he can hear is his own voice echoing back at him.

He screams until his throat is raw and his voice is gone and he's on his knees with his arms wrapped around himself, clutching at his sides and his breaths come out in short, raspy gasps.

No one hears him.

No one ever hears him.

* * *

He stops counting the days.

* * *

He doesn't go to Len's room anymore. He shuts himself in his own. The room that he hasn't slept in in months. The room that shows no sign he's ever been there. Of course it doesn't. His clothes he gets- got from Gideon. His ATOM suit he keeps- kept in the lab.

He lies on his bed and considers walking out of the ship. Considers walking into the void and letting the nonexistence claim him.

It's not like anyone will stop him.

It's not like anyone _can_ stop him.

* * *

He doesn't do it.

* * *

He doesn't blink when the doors hiss open.

He glances over and sees Len, standing in the doorway, a frown on his face.

“This isn't my room,” he hears the man mutter under his breath.

He doesn't think. Doesn't hesitate as he’s suddenly on his feet and he _throws_ himself at Len.

Empty. Nothing. Blank. Void. _Peace_.

Then Len turns around and walks away, forcing him back into his sorry excuse for existence.

That night he returns to Len's room, lies down on his side of the bed and waits. Waits for Len to come. Waits for him to fall asleep. Then he buries himself into Len's back, and he welcomes the blankness he once feared with open arms.

* * *

He can't keep doing this.

Deep in his soul he knows this is wrong. He knows that it's selfish. That he's just using Len to escape. Using these temporary periods of non-being to avoid facing his reality, at least until Len wakes up.

He has to stop.

* * *

One morning, he makes his decision.

He feels oddly light. Relieved.

It'll all be over soon.

For the first time in a long time, he walks around the ship and finds the others. He talks to them, again.

They deserve a good bye, even if they can't hear it.

He's talked to Kendra, Professor, Jax, and Sara by the time Rip calls for a meeting.

It's alright. He can wait.

He stands behind Rip. He's the next one, after all.

A flash of familiar yellow catches his eyes, and he sees the case, open, in Len's hands.

He watches as Len draws in a sharp breath and grabs at the table with both hands. The case clatters on the table surface.

He watches the others turn their attention towards Len.

“ _Raymond_.”

He blinks.

Did he just…?

He can't stop himself from reacting.

“Len?”

Suddenly, Len is looking at him. Looking _at_ him and he's having trouble _breathing_ because those ice blue eyes _see_ him and the _intensity_ of the gaze is far greater than anything he's felt before. Far greater than _anything_ he's capable of handling after an _eternity_ of being unseen, of being seen through, of being not _there_.

He doesn't remember sitting down, but he can't bring himself to care. His hand grabs at his chest and all he can think is he sees me he _sees_ me _he sees me_ -

Ray speaks again, shaking and quiet and daringly _hopeful_.

“…you can… _see_ me…?”

_**To be continued** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so sorry.
> 
> Also, I'd like to point out, as I've actually put conscious effort into this and don't want people to miss it: Ray's name not being used again after his breakdown until the end of the chapter is 100% intentional.


	3. A Step Forward…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len doesn't answer him, and as the silence drags on he can feel the rare glimmer of hope slip away from him.
> 
> But Len is still staring. _At_ him. So he clings on to that like a lifeline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next part! Sorry this took a while, but I had trouble figuring out how exactly a wanted this chapter to go. I wrote and erased and rewrote about 3 to 4 times in total, but I believe this is the version I want to see. It's also shorter than the previous chapter, but I think nothing will ever be as long as the previous chapter. If nothing else, for the sake of my own broken heart.
> 
> Another added tag, which will apply to all following chapters: PTSD. Because you don't come out of an experience like this without being scarred.

Len doesn't answer him, and as the silence drags on he can feel the rare glimmer of hope slip away from him.

But Len is still staring. _At_ him. So he clings on to that like a lifeline.

“Leonard, are you okay?” he hears Sara say, worry clear in her tone.

“What,” that's Professor Stein, his voice tight, “does _Ronald_ have to do with any of this?”

Len doesn't answer them either, but the ice blue eyes flicker off him and for one horrifying instant he thinks that that's it, that Len isn't going to see him again and he's back to being invisible and he can feel the world around him spiraling out of focus-

Len’s gaze snaps back on him, and he takes in a desperate gulp of air, like he has just broken through the surface of the water that's been drowning him.

Len's eyes narrow, and once upon a time he might have been able to pick up the concern layered underneath. But now all he can focus on is the feeling of being _seen_ and nothing else matters.

“Snart. What are you looking at.” Jax. It doesn't sound like a question, more of an accusation.

Finally, Len speaks.

“ _Rip_.” His voice is chipped. Serious. Without any drawl. “We need to _talk_.”

* * *

Len doesn't look away from the man as the rest of the team leave the room. Judging by how the man’s face fell to such _despair_ the _one_ second his eyes moved to glance at Stein…

Len doesn't know why, but he has never felt such a need to _protect_ towards someone who isn't Lisa.

(It's almost familiar.)

The man slides from the chair to the floor and doesn't move, but his eyes are glued almost desperately on Len. It's…unnerving, the way those brown eyes seem _empty_ , and how they're focused on him but not really _looking_ at him. No intent behind them. No observation or calculation or emotion, just…staring.

It's such a stark contrast from what Len remembers seeing in the visions. From the warm and vibrant and almost _sickeningly_ emotional eyes in those fleeting images that Len feels himself scowling.

(What the hell happened to him?)

Mick stays. Len doesn't particularly mind, and deep down he also feels a hint of relief. He can feel the pyro looking at him intently, searching for answers, before finally speaking.

“What do you see?”

“Remember what we talked about in your room?”

A grunt of acknowledgement. “The feeling that something’s off.”

“Well,” Len replies quietly, running his eyes over the man sitting on the floor, “I think I see the answer.”

Their semi-private conversation is cut short when Rip lets out a rather loud sigh. “Alright, Mr. Snart, what is it that you wanted to… _talk_ about?”

He sounds wary. And suddenly Len feels annoyed, more than he has in a long time.

(When _was_ the last time?)

“You are a Time Master, _Rip_ ,” he hisses. He can _feel_ Rip opening his mouth to correct him and he presses on before the captain has a chance to do so. “Were. _Whatever_. But _don't_ try to tell me that you haven't noticed it. That you, of all people, haven't felt the lingering sense that something is _wrong_ for the past several weeks now. Several _months_ now.”

His finger brushes against the metal case that has been temporarily forgotten on the table, and Len grabs for it before sliding it across the table to where he knows Rip is standing.

“Tell me what that is, _Captain_.” Len crosses his arms over his chest. “I found it in the lab, and it isn’t Stein’s. Now, unless it belongs to your _Jonas_ , I can’t think of a good reason why a toy like that would be aboard this sorry DeLorean wannabe.”

It’s a low blow, to bring Rip’s son into this, but Len wants to make a _point_ and he knows for sure that he has Rip’s attention now.

Rip is silent, and Len realizes how strange this must look, with him talking to the ex-Time Master while facing a completely different direction, but every time he almost averts his gaze somewhere else, Len remembers the way the face he’s looking at right now had _crumbled_ and he can't bring himself to do it.

There's a sound of metal scraping against metal, then a sharp inhale.

“This isn’t possible,” he hears Rip say, voice almost a whisper.

“ _What_ isn’t possible?”

A pause. “This technology. It's the same as the sentries that's guarding the world from my time, but- it's not-” Rip cuts himself off and more silence follows, and Len lets out a barely contained growl.

“What Captain Hunter meant,” Gideon’s voice rings out, effectively stopping Len from tearing into Rip, “is that this seems like a prototype of the sentries from the 22nd century. But my analysis determines that it contains a component that doesn’t exist in that time period.”

“Nanites fused with dwarf star energy,” Rip finally says. “This technology is somehow both ancient - for the 22nd century - and _light years_ ahead of anything I’ve ever seen.”

“ _Amazing_.” Len drawls, dripping as much sarcasm into the single word as possible. “So why is it _here_?”

When Rip doesn’t answer, he presses on. “There are eight chairs in this room, not counting your high and mighty captain’s seat. _Why_? Minus Carter Hall there are only _six_ of us.”

“Are you implying-” Rip cuts himself off again, and Len finds it incredibly difficult to fight down the urge to _punch_ him.

“You can see them.” Mick suddenly says next to him. His tone isn't questioning or accusing, it is just a statement of fact. “The eighth person. The one the case belongs to. That's the answer.”

Len nods.

“I…” Rip gulps audibly, “I, need some time to think.”

There's the sound of a door sliding closed, and they are left alone.

Slowly, Len begins walking over to the man sitting on the floor. He stops a few inches away from him. Throughout the entire conversation, the man hasn't reacted once, still staring blankly at him.

Somehow, it makes Len _furious_.

“What do you know about them?” Mick asks.

Len considers how to answer. He searches those vague memories, the ones that don't feel like his yet. Finally, he settles on the one thing he knows, “His name is Raymond.”

Finally, _finally_ he sees a flicker of recognition in those brown eyes, and for the first time he sees them _looking_ at him, studying him.

“You don't remember me,” comes the quiet words.

Len is never one for sugarcoating. “No,” he answers truthfully, and his eyes narrow when the man - _Raymond_ \- blinks, as if he hadn't expected to be answered, “but I know that I knew you. I know that we were… _close_.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Len sees the puzzled and slightly concerned expression on Mick’s face. But he doesn't say anything, and Len's grateful for that.

In front of him, Raymond’s lips tug into a ghost of a smile, barely resembling the ones in the visions. “No, it's okay,” he says, “you can see me. You can _hear_ me, that's-” He breaks off and closes his eyes. Len feels a pang of… _something_ at how his voice had broken at the word “hear”.

Raymond continues after a shuddering breath, “that’s enough for me.”

Something _twists_ in Len at those words, because no, that’s not enough. That _shouldn't_ _be_ enough. And even if this is the most _peaceful_ expression he's seen on Raymond’s face since being able to see him, period, it's _not enough_.

Before he realizes what he's doing, Len is down on one knee in front of him and one hand is reaching out to- fuck, he doesn't know _what_ he wants to do, but he needs to at least _touch_ -

He freezes when Raymond’s eyes snap open and the man _jolts_ away from him.

Len knows that reaction. He's seen it many times, even experienced it many times as well. Cursing himself, Len curls his outstretched hand into a fist and draws it back.

Raymond, now a good five feet away from him, is breathing in short, hurried gasps. “I'm- I'm sorry, I just-” he gulps, and forcibly deepens and lengthens his breathing. Len draws in a sharp breath himself when he realizes how obviously _practiced_ the action is.

Words tumble out of Raymond’s mouth as he curls in on himself, arms wrapping around his torso as his hands twists in the shirt on either sides, “It's just- I can't- I phase through things and- people go through me and- I can't feel it- can't feel anything there's nothing to feel there's _nothing_ -” his voice breaks again and he draws in another shaky breath.

“ _Please_ ,” Raymond says, voice small and desperate, “don't touch me.”

“I won't.” Len replies, hoping it sounds like a promise. It sounds hollow to his own ears, not because he doesn't intend on keeping it, but because it feels like he lost something without ever having known he had it.

But that seems to be enough for Raymond, because he lets out a small, tired sigh and says, quietly grateful, “Thank you.”

Len feels another twist at how _easy_ it is, how _little_ it takes for anything to be “enough”.

* * *

He feels horrible. Selfish. The first real conversation with Len, after so, so _long_ , and he's already lying through his teeth.

He doesn't fear the nothingness. Not anymore. Hasn't for a long time. He even welcomes it.

But now that Len can see him, now that he can hear him, he's terrified that touching Len, that disappearing into Len, will undo whatever miracle that had happened to give him hope. He's terrified that feeling the nothingness again will break him, tear this hope away from him again as he falls back into the destructive routine of attempting to erase himself from existence.

He can't let Len touch him. He can't risk this. Even if it means never touching Len again, even if it means lying and hurting Len, letting Len think _he's_ the one hurting him.

Ray doesn't want to lose hope again.

_**To be continued** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two steps back?
> 
> Someone hug Ray for me. I don't have the right.
> 
> Originally Len's confrontation with Rip was going to be a lot more... _heated_ , but I decided that that wasn't something I wanted to focus on. The focus should be on Len and Ray and how they deal with the current situation. How they heal. The other characters will play a part, of course, but they'll mostly stick to the sidelines. I'm sorry if any of you are disappointed by that. D:


	4. Distortion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hand settles on Len's shoulder.
> 
> “Snart,” Mick says. An unvoiced question weighs heavily on the word.
> 
> “I'm fine,” Len replies on reflex. He feels the hand tighten, in warning and in just the tiniest sliver of concern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left reviews, kudos, and reblogged and liked on Tumblr. Your support for this story means a lot. :D
> 
> This chapter feels a little weird. Maybe because I'm still trying to grasp what tempo I want the story to have exactly. And because I'm still planning out a lot of stuff. Bear with me, I promise it'll get better, both emotionally and plot-wise. :'D
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to [Mogwai](http://mogwai1988.tumblr.com), for putting up with my screaming and yelling ad complaining throughout the writing process. And [Marissa](http://martianmanhuntter.tumblr.com), for somehow letting me pull her into ColdAtom hell with me despite never having watched the show. Love you both. <3

A hand settles on Len's shoulder.

“Snart,” Mick says. An unvoiced question weighs heavily on the word.

“I'm fine,” Len replies on reflex. He feels the hand tighten, in warning and in just the tiniest sliver of concern.

He shakes his head to clear it; he should know better than to do this to Mick. But then, he's not the one that's a shaking mess on the floor. Compared to Raymond, Len's own turbulent thoughts suddenly seem irrelevant.

“I'm fine, Mick,” he tries again, less automated and with more conviction. Mick doesn't buy it, if the scowl he can make out in his peripheral vision is anything to go by. But the hand removes itself, accompanied by a huff, “Keep telling yourself that.”

He will. He has to be.

(For Raymond.)

Raymond seems to have calmed down a bit, and Len watches as his eyes flicker between him and Mick. There's a sense of resigned realization on his face.

“Mick can't see me,” he says after a while, “it’s only you.”

“What can I say, observation has always been my forte,” the quip slips past his lips while his brain is busy processing that Raymond apparently knows them well enough to call his partner  _Mick_.

Len realizes what he had said and blinks. That doesn't sound like something you should say to a traumatized man, but he can't explain why it came out so naturally. Why it feels so real and easy and _right_.

For a moment, no one moves. Raymond is staring at him blankly with wide eyes. Then he lets out a sound that's somewhere between a sigh and a sob.

“ _God_ , Len…” (not Snart, not Leonard, _Len_ ) he raises one hand and runs it over his face, covering his eyes at first then slowly dragging it down to cover his mouth.

Len almost misses the muffled whisper.

“ _I missed this so much_.”

* * *

He wants to cry, but he has no tears left to shed. He used them all up crying through his nights lying next to an unaware Len.

So he settles for the slight stinging behind his eyes and the tremble that's slowly taking over his body.

The easy, fond quips and jabs of sarcasm and wit that he and Len throws at each other. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed them.

He feels a jolt of guilt. He isn't in any shape to have something to say back.

“Raymond.”

But he also feels something else. He closes his eyes and feels the small ember of hope in his chest _swell_. It's raw and real and _terrifying_.

The sensation is familiar and yet so, so foreign.

“Raymond.”

Len's voice finally cuts through the turmoil in his mind and Ray blinks, unused to the sound of his own name, unused to being called. He looks up, meeting the ice blue eyes again.

“I'm going to look away.” Len's voice isn't soft, isn't gentle. His expression is still guarded, still wary. But it’s enough. Those words are enough.

Ray takes in the deep breath, lets his hand fall to his side, and nods.

Len turns away, and the loss of Len’s gaze on him is _agonizing_.

But he closes his eyes again, hugs his knees, and forces himself to remain calm. Len can see him. Len can hear him. It’s real. It’s real.

It’s real.

He doesn’t know when the room fell silent, but when he looks up again Mick is gone.

And Len, leaning against the nearest chair, is watching him quietly.

“So, what now?”

Ray doesn’t know the answer to that. He’s spent so long, so _long_ convinced, believing wholeheartedly that this day, that this moment won’t come. A lifetime ago he might have had a list of things he wanted to do once things started getting better, but now he’s lost.

“You were important to me, but I don’t remember you. Not fully,” Len continues. “Not a pleasant feeling. But I’m guessing that’s nothing compared to being forgotten entirely. Having to watch the rest of us go on without you.”

Ray gulps, and suddenly he can’t keep his eyes on Len anymore. He looks away, biting the inside of his lips.

Len is right, of course, and it _hurts_.

“How long?”

He blinks. How long?

“I…don’t know,” he answers truthfully, “I stopped counting after…after day 47.”

“Why?”

Guilt tears through his soul again when he opens his mouth, then hesitates. He shouldn’t keep the truth from Len. He should tell him everything.

But he imagines telling Len, telling him how he broke, when he broke, _why_ he broke and his chest tightens until he can’t breathe.

“I didn’t see the point.” He finally whispers. It’s a half-truth. It’s good enough for now.

* * *

Barely contained anger is boiling under his skin, and Len doesn’t know why.

Every sentence, every word, every _gesture_ from Raymond ignites a spark of rage, leaving Len seething at an unknown enemy.

He isn't angry at Raymond, that much he's certain. He isn't angry at himself either, he's done nothing wrong.

But everything Raymond says or does screams _wrong_ and it's _pissing him off._

It gets worse when he realizes that he can't find the reason, can't find why everything seems wrong and why it angers him.

It feels like he _should_ know.

Nothing makes sense, and that just serves to anger him even more.

The day ends with Len asking Raymond where he sleeps.

Raymond stares at him blankly again, and the silence drags on to be almost concerning before he speaks.

“I don't sleep,” Raymond says, sounding dumbfounded, “I didn't even realize…I don't need it. I don't get tired. Most nights I just…”

He trails off. Then something - _guilt?_ \- flashes through his eyes and he looks away. “…I keep myself busy. In my room.”

The answer sounds incomplete, somehow. But it's not like Len knows any better.

The next morning, Gideon informs him that Rip wants to speak with him, and to bring the “eighth member,” conveniently reminding Len that what happened yesterday is not a fever dream.

He walks out the doors of his room and almost jumps when he's greeted by Raymond standing awkwardly across the hall.

Almost.

Instead he stares at the man long and hard. “Your room,” he deadpans. Len's assuming it's the one he accidentally walked into a few weeks ago. “It's in the other hall. How did you get here so quickly?”

Raymond looks around uncomfortably. Then he takes a deep breath, as if preparing himself, and reaches out with one hand towards the wall.

And Len watches, slightly alarmed, as the hand goes _through_ the wall.

“I phase through things.” Raymond says quietly, and Len vaguely recalls him saying something along the lines of that in the panic-induced rambling from the day before. He's still staring as Raymond draws his hand back, rubbing at it with his other hand.

Right. Okay. He can deal with this.

* * *

Another lie. They weigh heavily on Ray, but he can't stop telling them.

He can't tell Len that he spent the night outside his door, scared to go in and yet terrified to leave.

He can't tell Len that he's spent the nights lying next to him, violating his personal space for his own selfish want to stop being.

He can't tell Len that he's the reason he broke.

He can't tell Len any of it.

The nothingness hadn't come when he pushed his hand into the wall, and he's horrified to find himself feeling slightly disappointed.

But as expected, his… _ability_ is unusual enough to draw Len's attention away from the flaw in his explanation.

Ray hopes Len doesn't realize that he had no way of knowing when to come over.

**_To be continued_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll get into more plot in the next chapter! Which is surprising, because when I wrote the first chapter I never intended this to have a plot. ^q^


	5. Disclosure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ray follows Len onto the bridge. Immediately he sees Rip, pacing back and forth next to the briefing table. His eyes follow the movement until they spot someone else. Further away, leaning against a chair, is Mick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I said nothing will ever be as long as chapter 2? Well.
> 
> Good news tho! I finally figured out how I want this story to go, and where to take it. I have it all planned out now, and I only hope that you guys will enjoy the ride as much as I did planning it. <3
> 
> Another added tag: Post-Season 1. Because I finally worked out when this whole thing takes place. :'D

Ray follows Len onto the bridge. Immediately he sees Rip, pacing back and forth next to the briefing table. His eyes follow the movement until they spot someone else. Further away, leaning against a chair, is Mick.

“Ah, Mr. Snart,” Rip says, drawing his attention back on the captain. Ray watches as he stops moving and turns to them, to Len. “Glad to have you join us. I take it our…additional passenger is with you?”

He blinks as Len's eyes flicker to him. “He's here,” Len answers, then his gaze moves to Mick.

It's strange, being addressed like this. Not fully recognized but at least acknowledged. It's a new feeling, one that he isn't entirely sure how to deal with.

“Right. Good.” Rip nods. Then he must have seen Len's questioning gaze, because his eyes move to Mick as well and he continues, “I called Mr. Rory as well. I have reason to believe that his…knowledge of temporal incidents and effects can aid us with our current…situation.”

Mick grunts at that, but doesn't say anything.

Len nods and sits down on the nearest chair, and Ray hesitates before stepping up cautiously next to the chair. He isn't used to being part of the discussion, and standing here, honestly, feels awkward and uncomfortable. But he doesn't exactly want to stray too far from Len, either.

“So, what do you have for us, Rip?” Len asks, and the familiar drawl lingers on every other word. Ray shifts nervously as he waits for Rip’s reply. He doesn't know what to expect, but he also doesn't exactly want to know, either.

For all he knows, this burning hope inside of him could be all for naught.

* * *

Len keeps his eyes on Rip, but he can't help taking a glance at Raymond out of the corner of his eye now and again. Raymond looks tense, as if dreading what is to come.

Len can't blame him, really.

“Yes, about that,” Rip replies, spinning around and engaging with the briefing table with multiple quick taps. Then he reaches into his coat and pulls out the case.

The case that started everything.

Next to him, Raymond’s eyes widen and he lets out a small gasp, as if seeing it for the first time.

“After our discussion yesterday, I took the liberty to look more deeply into this technology. With the help of Gideon, of course,” Rip continues, laying the case on the edge of the table, away from the screen.

“Always a pleasure to help, Captain Hunter,” Gideon’s much too cheerful voice supplies, at which Rip gives a nod. “As usual, Gideon, thank you.”

“Stop flirting with GLaDOS and get to the point, _Captain_ ,” Len cuts in, and absolutely relishes in the grimace on Rip’s face.

“Right. As I mentioned before, _this_ -” he gestures to the metal casket with the toy- the _suit_ again, “is a near-prototype of the sentries of the 22nd century. Now-”

He pauses, and Len is about 90% sure that it's purely for dramatic effect. He fights down the urge to roll his eyes. Rip actually has a point he wants to hear.

“-I say near-prototype, because this isn't the prototype that has been archived in history. This-” With one swipe of his hand, a picture of the suit appears on the table. But this one, Len notices, is significantly bigger than the one of the table.

Much bigger.

“-is the actual prototype. Created in 2025.”

He glances at Raymond and sees the frown on the man's face.

“Recognize it?” he asks. Then sighs inwardly when he doesn't get an answer. “Raymond.”

“Huh?” The man blinks and turns his head to stare at Len blankly until realization settles in on his face. “Oh, you were talking to me. Right, I, uh,” he swallows and looks back at the picture on the table display, and Len feels a frown of his own forming on his lips.

They have got to get Raymond used to being talked to.

Raymond stares at the display for five more seconds before he speaks. “That's my prototype of the ATOM suit,” he says softly, “before I implemented the nanites. Before Damien Darhk-”

He stops abruptly, as if hitting a verbal wall. Len watches as he chews on his bottom lip, lost in thought, and then shakes his head. “Doesn't matter. Point is, I made it in 2015.”

Len makes a mental note to check into Raymond’s apparent connection to the Star City crime lord later.

Suddenly he's aware of two sets of wary eyes on him, and his eyes snap away from Raymond to see both Rip and Mick staring at him.

“He says he made the suit,” he supplies for them while pointing at the table display, then draws the hand back to look them pointedly in the eyes. “In 2015.”

There's something wrong with the way they're looking at him, and his eyes narrow when their wariness don't lessen after his explanation.

Everyone is silent for another three seconds, then Rip nods slowly. “Right. We'll take that into consideration. Right now let's focus on what we do know.”

The ex-Time Master interacts with the screen again, and another image appears right next to the prototype. This time it's a photograph. Of Raymond.

No, not of Raymond, Len corrects himself. The face is similar, identical even, but this person looks about a decade older, and the way he carries himself is all wrong. There's a condescending smugness and confidence in his stance and expression that Len doesn't ever recall seeing from Raymond, even in his newly regained, albeit hazy, memories.

“This is the man responsible for the prototype. Known to the people of the 22nd century as the father of robotics, Sydney Palmer.”

He hears a hitched breath and immediately his attention is back on the man to his left. Raymond is hugging his sides again, an action that's becoming increasingly worrisome. He's staring at the picture of Palmer with wide eyes, and Len can almost swear he can hear his heartbeat.

“Raymond,” he calls, just to be sure the man is still with them, and the brown eyes snap to him and the distress in them takes Len by surprise.

That is the most emotion he's seen in them yet.

“I- that's- Sydney. That's my brother. My twin brother.” He swallows thickly. “I always thought- I always assumed that he stole- will steal- _steals_ my research and uses it for profit after I died. Legally. I always thought if I can just be more careful, if I can just be cautious, then…then what happened in Kasnia would be different.”

He stops, looking at the display screen in an expression that can only be described as forlorn. Then, a quiet, defeated whisper.

“Even without me he's still able to create the suit.”

Len is suddenly overcome with the same _protectiveness_ that came when he was first able to see the man. It's so overwhelming and strong and, worst of all, inexplicably _familiar_ that he's thrown completely off guard.

“Snart.” Mick's voice forces his attention off of Raymond, off of the strange urge to protect, and back at the task at hand. Len quickly runs his mind through what Raymond had said, picking out the important details and relaying it to the other two, “Sydney Palmer is his twin. Raymond says Palmer stole his research.”

No one speaks, again. And again Len feels the wary eyes watching him.

“Mr. Snart,” Rip says, his voice laced with an odd gentleness that puts Len on edge, “Sydney Palmer didn't- doesn't have a brother, much less a twin.”

Len stares.

Then everything clicks.

He stands, abruptly, ignoring how Raymond jumps at the sudden movement, glowering and glaring at the other two as he's suddenly _livid_.

They don't even _flinch_.

“You don't believe me. _Neither_ of you,” he growls at them.

Rip has the decency to at least _pretend_ to look guilty. Mick just meets his eyes steadily.

Rip opens his mouth, and Len can _feel_ the lie forming on his lips.

“ _Don't_.”

The warning does its job and the captain snaps his jaws closed. Good. He didn't want to hear whatever words of _comfort_ the bastard had to offer.

“Why?” he bites out. Out of all the raging and racing thoughts in his mind that is the one that stands out the most.

“Mr. Snart, you have to know,” Rip answers, still sounding apologetic, still _gentle_. It makes him _sick_. “It's not that we don't believe you. We do believe that you think everything you said to be true.”

“So what? I'm _crazy_?” he snaps. “It's all in my _head_ , is it?”

“Not entirely.” Rip shakes his head. “We suspect you might be suffering side effects from your… _encounter_ , with the Oculus. That it may have caused you to see…things that aren’t there.”

“The _Oculus_ -” he breaks off, the rage that's surging in him rendering him temporarily unable to speak. How dare they. How _dare_ _they_.

“Right. _Fine_.” He finally spits, scathing and cruel, “I should have _expected_ this from you, _Captain_. But _you_.”

He turns his gaze to Mick, the rage only increasing from what feels a lot like _betrayal_.

“Et tu, _old friend_?” The title grinds through his teeth like nails. The elation when Mick actually winces is both bitter and _satisfying_.

“I believe you,” Mick explains, “but Hunter has a point. It's not impossible. What happened with you and the Oculus exploding, nothing like it has ever happened before.”

“Then _why_ are we _here_?” he demands, unable to keep the bitterness out of his words, “why are you _talking_ about this with me, _pretending_ to care about what I have to say when you could have tossed me into the glorified hamster cage and left me there to _rot_.”

“ _Because_ , Mr. Snart,” Rip answers him, anger also seeping into his voice, “despite what you might think, we do actually _care_ about you. And this-” he holds up the case with the suit, “-is a technology that by all means should be _impossible_ to exist, so forgive me for _trying_ to find out how _you_ came in possession of it!”

Before Len himself realizes it, he's standing at the table, directly across from Rip, leaning in dangerously close to his face, leering, and one hand is wrapped tightly around the yellow case in Rip’s hand.

“This doesn't belong to you,” he hisses, then he forcefully twists the case out of the captain's grip, slack from shock.

Len pockets the case and steps back, still glaring at the two offending men.

“There is a man, suffering, _have_ been suffering. For _months_.” He slowly looks between the both of them, taking in Rip’s tense shoulders and indignant snarl and Mick's narrowed eyes and crossed arms.

They still don't believe him.

“And until _either of you_ are done playing merciful doctors, and are actually willing to find a way to _help_ Raymond? We're _done_ here.”

He doesn't spare them another glance as he turns around to storm out of the room, walking right past a speechless Raymond.

As he nears the door, he hears a familiar stutter, then a rustle as Raymond moves after him.

“Wait, hey, Len!”

“I said _we're done here_.” He calls over his shoulder and walks out of the room, too angry to wait for Raymond to catch up.

The door slides shut behind him, effectively cutting off the lingering gazes of anger and misplaced concern on his back.

Len storms into the cafeteria, into the kitchen, and proceeds to break out the scotch that he'd stolen from Rip and stashed here ages ago.

He needs more than a few drinks.

He's already downed most of the first cup when Raymond’s hesitant figure appears beyond the open doorway.

“I'm guessing you can't drink or eat, either,” he drawls. “A shame. I'd offer you a drink, or a cupcake for stress eating otherwise.”

“Sorry,” comes the answer. Len winces. That isn't the response he was hoping to get.

“Not your fault.” He watches as the man’s tense shoulders relax by a fraction.

The room falls silent, and Len is left to his own thoughts. Just _thinking_ about what had transpired makes his blood boil.

He somehow survives the Oculus explosion, something that should have been _impossible_ , and yet they can't even believe that there's a man on board the ship that only he can see, can’t believe the existence of a technology not meant to be. And they have the _gall_ to pin the blame on him surviving the Oculus.

Len is starting his third cup, the alcohol burning in his throat when Raymond speaks up again.

“What if they're right?” his voice is quiet. Fearful. “What if I only exist in your mind? What if I'm just a figment for your imagination? What if I'm-”

“You're not,” he cuts in, unable to stand another existential question from him. Raymond is real. He knows this. He _remembers_ this. That has to account for _something_.

Raymond falls silent again, and his face seems to grow more peaceful. But he's still staring at Len, as if another question is about to barrel out of his mouth any second. Len mentally braces himself for it.

Finally, as he's nearing the bottom of the cup, “You've played Portal?”

Oh. _That_.

Somehow, he's not all that surprised that this is the point Raymond chose to ask about.

“Lisa made me watch her play.” he answers with a wince. Not a particularly fun memory, but a few of the characters had stood out to him.

Raymond nods, satisfied. And just as Len realizes he hadn't explained who Lisa is, the man supplies his own story, as if to balance their exchange.

“Cisco sent me a copy.”

Len stares.

Cisco. As in Cisco Ramon. As in the one who suggested the game to Lisa in the first place.

Len sighs and pours himself a fourth cup.

There's a lot more to Raymond than he realizes.

* * *

Ray stands quietly as he watches Len drink. He's not exactly jealous of it. He hasn't felt hunger - or thirst - for so long now that he isn't sure he remembers what they're supposed to feel like.

He thinks back to what had happened in the bridge. It stings to know his apparent nonexistence outside the ship doesn’t affect the timeline leading up to the 22nd century. It _hurts_ to know that Rip and Mick not only don't remember him, but also don't believe him. Don't believe _Len_. Because of him, they think something’s wrong with Len.

But at the same time, how Len had defended him brought a wave of warmth to his chest that he only now realizes he missed.

Suddenly, he hears footsteps behind him, and out of pure instinct he darts to the right, backing himself into the corner, just as someone steps in through the doorway and walks past him.

He blinks when he sees who it is.

Kendra.

“There you are,” she says, relief clear in her voice.  “I've been looking for you.”

“Not exactly in the mood, Saunders.” Len doesn't sound angry anymore, but there is a tiredness to his tone that makes Ray's insides twist with guilt.

Maybe Len being able to see him isn't such a good thing, after all.

Kendra hesitates, taking a step back. But Ray watches as she steels herself, straightening her back before moving closer towards Len.

“Yesterday, I overheard you talking to Rip,” she admits, “and I…it got me thinking.”

She pauses, eyes moving down to stare at the table counter. “You said, that you’ve felt that something is wrong for a while now,” she continues. Then she takes a deep breath and looks back up, looks right into Len’s eyes again, “That’s how _I’ve_ felt, too. For _four months_! I’ve felt that there’s something wrong, there’s something _off_ , even though no one said anything, _I_ didn’t say anything…”

No way.

Ray stares at her back, mind still trying to process what she’s saying, what she _means_. He watches, not really comprehending, as Kendra steps even closer to Len. “Then I heard what you said. And I began really thinking back, trying to find what’s wrong, trying to find the source, and I swear-” she takes in another deep breath, her eyes still on Len, “-it feels like there’s something missing. _Someone_ missing.”

All this time, Len just holds her gaze steadily, the almost empty glass in his hand never moving to his mouth. Then, softly, he asks, “What do you remember?”

At this, Kendra’s shoulders sag, and Ray watches as she looks away, guilt clearly visible on her face. “I…I don’t. I don’t remember anything.”

The words cut deep into his soul and he draws in a shaky breath.

It was stupid, to think, to _hope_ , that it could be that easy.

His hands find his sides again, and only then does he realize how much they are trembling.

“But,” Kendra suddenly continues, “I know something is wrong. I think back and…those two years stranded in the fifties. Sara _left_. And I…” she trails off. Then her next words came out in a quiet whisper, “There was no way I should have survived those two years alone, and yet that's what I remember doing.”

Suddenly her eyes snap back on Len, and even from behind her Ray can feel the desperate plea radiating off her. “But that's not right, is it? Something…something _happened_ to our memories, making us forget. There was someone else, wasn't there?”

Ray swallows, but it does nothing to help his dry throat as he continues to watch the scene play out in front of him, afraid to find out more yet unable to look away.

Len doesn't answer her, still looking at her and studying her with guarded eyes.

“Please, Snart. _Leonard_. I-” Kendra steps even closer, a hand coming down grab his, “I need to know. _Please_.”

Len's eyes travel down to the hand on his own. Then he looks back up at Kendra.

Then, without a word, the ice blue eyes move further and meet Ray's.

Even from this distance, Ray can see the hope dancing in them.

Then Kendra turns around, following Len's gaze, and Ray lets out a gasp when her eyes also land on him. A gasp that is drowned out by Kendra’s own one of surprise.

Kendra can _see_ him.

* * *

Len knows immediately that Kendra can see Raymond when she gasps, loudly, and puts a hand over her mouth.

The two stare at each other, eyes wide and unmoving.

“Kendra, meet Raymond.” He says, and finally empties out the cup in his hand, attempting to drown out the relief coursing through him.

This is it. The definite proof that Mick and Rip are _wrong_. Raymond needed this, and, as much as he hates to admit it, _he_ needed this. Needed this reassurance to kill the doubt the two time _experts_ had planted in their minds.

Suddenly, Kendra is moving forward, fast, and without thinking, Len's on his feet and grabs her by the elbow before she can get too far.

She whips around and stares at him, demanding an answer, but Len only half notices.

Instead, his eyes are on Raymond, who had also seen Kendra advancing towards him. And, in his panic to get away, he's now standing with half of his body _in_ the wall behind him.

Even knowing what he can do doesn't make this any less disturbing.

“You can't touch him.” Len manages to keep his voice steady. He sees the hurt confusion in her eyes, and before Kendra can say anything else, he nods in Raymond’s direction. “No one can.”

Kendra looks back at Raymond and gasps again, finally understanding. She doesn't try to pull out of his grip anymore, and only then does Len let go of her.

On his end, Raymond is looking at them with bewilderment.

“Raymond,” he calls, “you're in the wall.”

The man blinks, looks down, and actually lets out a verbal, “Oh.” Then he carefully steps forward, whole body in the room again.

For a second, no one says anything. Then Kendra takes a tentative step forward.

“Raymond? Is that your name?” Her voice is hopeful. More hopeful than either of them combined.

Raymond takes in a sharp breath, and lets it out in a whispered, “ _Kendra_ …” Then he nods, carefully.

“You're the one, aren't you? The one missing from our memories.” she takes another step, her hands tucked under her arms, clearly not intending to touch. But Len steps up behind her, just in case.

Raymond doesn't answer, still staring at Kendra with wide eyes, as if he's having a hard time believing this is actually happening.

They stop about two feet from him. Kendra continues looking up at Raymond, searching his face, all the while Len waits with Raymond in silence.

“You're so familiar, but I can't place you.” she finally says softly, and the disappointment there is hard to miss, “I'm sorry, Raymond.”

Raymond shakes his head, “No, it's okay. It's not your fault.” Then, he offers up a small smile, “And please, call me Ray.”

“Ray,” Kendra repeats, and there's a sense of nostalgia in her tone. Len frowns.

“I like Raymond better,” he mutters before his brain can fully process what he's doing. When it does, he grimaces. Maybe four cups of scotch before noon isn't such a good idea.

But then, a familiar, amazing, disgustingly _beautiful_ sound resounds through the kitchen, and Len forgets everything else.

Raymond is _laughing_.

It's not loud, or long. It's even a little tired. But it's _genuine_ and it's something, Len realizes with a start, that has been sorely missed, even when they- when _he_ didn't know it.

“You always did,” Raymond says with another quiet chuckle, and Len finds himself smiling back.

Whatever else happened today, at least now they have progress.

_**To be continued** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was more uplifting, yeah? I did say things will get better~
> 
> Also Len continues to surprise even me. I swear he wrote most of the scene with Mick and Rip himself.


	6. Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The door slides shut after Snart’s retreating figure, leaving Rip and Mick alone on the bridge.
> 
> “There. You pissed him off. Happy?” Mick says, deadpan and almost emotionless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was trying to get this chapter out today, because I'm leaving for a trip for three days that won't allow me to touch a computer, which means I'd still be able to write but not able to post. I didn't want you guys to wait that long, so I'm so glad I managed to do it!
> 
> Thanks again to everyone supporting, reading, commenting on this story. As much as I enjoy writing, you guys are the main reason why I do this. Love you all. <3

The door slides shut after Snart’s retreating figure, leaving Rip and Mick alone on the bridge.

“There. You pissed him off. Happy?” Mick says, deadpan and almost emotionless.

“You and I both knew it was a very likely outcome of this confrontation,” Rip replies, frustration coating every word. Then his tone softens, “If I am right, and this _is_ a side effect of the Oculus explosion, then-”

Mick cuts in, “Breaking it to him now is better than letting him be led on by false hope and denial, yeah, I know. But I also know Snart.” He turns his attention from the door to the captain. “I know how he acts in denial. That was _more_ than just denial. He's _convinced_. Maybe it's time to believe him.”

“But-”

“No. We did it your way, and it didn't get us anywhere.” Mick pushes himself off the chair he's leaning against, and walks up to Rip, “We had a deal, Hunter. Next time, we do it _his_ way.”

Rip meets his eyes, silent for a few seconds. Then at last, he nods in defeat, “Very well.”

* * *

Everything is happening so fast, so _overwhelming_ , that it takes a while for Ray to process all of it.

Kendra can see him. Kendra _knows_ about him. About the missing memories. Len isn't the only one who can see him. This had nothing to do with the Oculus. He isn't just in Len's head.

Len had made him _laugh_. A genuine, heartfelt laugh.

He thinks back to the last time he laughed, the last day he counted, the desperate, forced laughter that had turned into screams.

It seems like a lifetime ago.

His eyes sting again, but the tears don't come. Instead, Ray finds himself smiling, a small, tired, but real smile. This is the most he can do to convey the relief and sheer _joy_ and all of the other mess of emotions storming through him.

Suddenly, Kendra’s voice pulls his focus back on them.

“We need to tell Rip, he'll know how to help you,” she says.

Behind her, Len scowls, and Ray feels a frown forming on his own lips. Kendra looks between both of them in confusion.

“Yeah, our dearest _Captain_ isn't going to help us.” Len spits, anger back in his tone.

“Why not?”

Briefly, Len explains what had happened earlier that morning. His voice stays bitter through it all, and Ray really can't blame him. Now that he knows Rip is wrong, he feels Len has every right to be angry.

Kendra is silent after the explanation, thinking.

“But I can see him, see _Ray_ , too,” she points out, “That's all we need, right? Proof that it isn't just you.”

Len scowls at that again and moves, hand reaching for the bottle. Ray frowns.

“You shouldn't drink more than five, Len.” The reminder slips past his lips without him thinking, and Ray snaps his jaw closed as soon as the last word is uttered.

He hadn't meant to say that.

Len is staring at him, long and hard, the same stare when he first showed him his quote unquote intangibility.

“I'm aware of my own limits, Raymond,” he finally says, and grabs the bottle anyway.

Ray sighs. He really hadn't meant to reveal how much he knows about Len. He knows that for Len, he is all but a stranger, even if he can recall bits and pieces. A stranger who has no reason to know about these things, these little habits and facts about Len, some of which he only knows because of the sheer amount of time he spent following Len around when he was still invisible, when he still counted the days.

Suddenly he's aware of Kendra looking at him, then at Len, then back at him again. There's an amused glint in her eyes as she raises a finger and gestures between the two of them, “Is there…something going on, between you two?”

Ray swallows, and turns his gaze on Len, who is staring back with an unreadable expression. His eyes are narrowed, and Ray can see the guarded look in them.

A deep, burning flash of _pain_ tears through Ray as he thinks back to the times before… _before_ , an eternity ago.

Four months, Kendra had said. He almost wants to laugh. Damien Darhk had him for _six_. He's only grown weaker.

He thinks about the nights they spent together, the rarer nights they simply slept next to each other, the slowly crumbling wall around Len as he let Ray get closer, sometimes closer than Ray ever dared to go.

Closer than he had any right to go.

Then he thinks about the nights he used Len, taking advantage of the unaware man as he violated his personal space, his existence, forcing himself into Len's room, onto Len's bed, just for his selfish want to _disappear_ , but never having the courage to head for the Waverider’s door, at least until yesterday morning.

Yesterday. It feels weird to label time like this again.

Whatever they had before, whatever they _shared_ , Ray knows he's never going to get it back.

He doesn't deserve to have it back.

“There used to,” he says quietly, just at the same time as Len grumbles, “Apparently.”

Len's eyes widen for a fraction of a second before narrowing again to _glare_ at him. Then he pointedly looks away and downs the fresh cup of alcohol.

Ray closes his eyes and draws in a shuddering breath, guilt weighing heavily on his soul.

* * *

_There used to._

Those three words don't hurt. They _don't_ bite into his supposedly nonexistent heart and leave him with a bleeding, agonizing wound. Len doesn't try to drown it out with more alcohol and being pissed.

(Which is tiring, to be perfectly honest. Being this angry, almost since the moment he saw Raymond. This rage that has no source, no target, _nothing_. Len doesn't even know where to _begin_ to quench it.)

But he doesn't _do_ honest. Doesn't want to acknowledge the tiredness in his soul. Instead, he takes that anger and redirects it to the nearest and easiest targets, which at the moment are Rip and Mick.

“Leonard,” Kendra calls, cutting into his thoughts, “we have to tell Rip. We _have_ to try again. I'll go with you this time. With me, he won't be able to pin it on the Oculus anymore.”

He growls at the thought of facing those two so soon again.

Kendra glares at him. “Don't you _want_ to help Ray?”

He glares back, deciding not to dignify that with an answer.

Of course he does. He wants to help Raymond. Wants to discover who he is. Wants to know what _they_ were. What they once meant to each other, since Raymond clearly knows him well enough to know his _drinking limit_.

He doesn't remember letting anyone get that close.

(Lisa and Mick don't count. Lisa has always been close. Mick made _sure_ he got close.)

He doesn't know which is worse, knowing that he had let Raymond in, or that he can't remember doing it.

Maybe he should swallow this almost childish anger and face Rip and Mick, demand answers from them, show them the undeniable proof they have now, get Raymond help as fast as possible.

But the anger and rage (pain) and ire (panic) pile together inside of him, swirling and growing until he isn't sure he could keep it in anymore, and Len takes a deep breath, pushing the empty glass away from him.

( _Everything_ that has happened since yesterday, all the thoughts and confusion and _fear_ that he had forcibly pushed aside are finally catching up to him and it's almost _too much_.)

“Maybe we can wait ‘til tomorrow,” he hears Raymond say.

“What?” Kendra stares. “But, Ray-”

“Please, Kendra. Just- less than twenty four hours ago I was still _invisible_. To _everyone_. Now Len can see me, you can see me, and I find out history really doesn't need me, even my _suit_ doesn't need me, and I just-” Raymond closes his eyes for three seconds. When he opens them again, Len pretends he doesn't see those brown eyes glance at him.

“It's all happening too fast. Give us- give _me_ a day to process it all. Just one day. Please.”

The kitchen falls silent as they wait for Kendra’s reply. Kendra is, once again, looking between the two of them. Even without meeting her eyes, Len can see the concern in them.

“Alright. Of course.” She takes a deep breath, just at the same time as Len lets out a small breath he hadn't realized he’s been holding. “You're right. The past twenty four hours has to be intense for you. You deserve a break. _Both_ of you.”

As she says the last part, she looks pointedly at Len.

He must be really out of it if his distress is obvious even to her. He blames the alcohol.

“Len,” Raymond says, his voice gentle and apologetic, so much like Rip’s was, but _sincere_. “You can go rest if you want to.”

He stares at him. Not that the suggestion isn't appealing, to hide in his room or a dark corner of the ship and sort out his mess of thoughts and _feelings_ , calm himself down until he's ready to face more of this emotionally draining situation they're in.

But.

“Go, Leonard. I'll keep an eye on Ray.” Kendra’s eyes are kind, and Len wonders when she had become so perceptive.

Two phrases float to the front of his mind. _Thank you_ and _I'm sorry_.

He doesn't say either as he, with a nod, pushes himself away from the counter and makes his escape.

He almost runs into Mick just outside the cafeteria door. He glares at him, the betrayal still fresh in his mind. Mick takes one look at him and raises an eyebrow.

“You've been drinking.” It isn't a question.

“Get your own,” Len growls back before continuing his way into the hallway, not bothering to wait for Mick to respond.

He almost regrets not taking the rest of the bottle of scotch with him.

* * *

Ray sighs as he watches Len walk away.

It hurts but he deserves it.

“That was nice of you,” Kendra says, “trying to cover for him.”

He winces. He had hoped against hope that she wouldn't be able to tell. Len doesn't need anyone else seeing him vulnerable. He'd almost forgotten how good at reading people Kendra is.

“What I said was still true,” he replies quietly, “It's been a…long day. For either of us.”

Kendra nods and hums, but he can still see the worry on her face.

“Well, let's try something else then,” she finally continues. “Tell me about yourself, Ray. Tell me what we should remember about you.”

Ray frowns. “There isn't much to say.”

“Sorry to sound rude, but that can't be true.” Kendra crosses her arms, staring at him firmly but not unkindly. Ray suddenly feels like a child being scolded by his mother.

“You obviously were important to me. You obviously were important to _Leonard_. Look how shaken he was from not being able to remember you! Even _I_ could tell! You had to have been through a lot with us. With _him_.”

Ray stares at the floor, unable to meet her eyes.

So what if he did? They can still do just fine without him. He’s seen it.

“ _Ray_ ,” her voice is soft but worried, and only then did Ray realize that he'd spoken out loud. “We can't help what we can't remember, what we don't _know_. I'm sorry you had to watch us forget you.”

She steps closer, and Ray finally chances a glance at her face. Her eyes are warm, more gentle, more kind, more _understanding_ , than anything he deserves.

“But we know now. You can help us help _you_. Tell us who you are. Help us remember you. Help _him_ remember you,” she says, her voice quiet yet strong, “like what Carter did for me.”

His eyes widen, suddenly, finally seeing, understanding, why Kendra is so patient, so kind, and so much more _calm_ about this than either him or Len.

Before he can think of a response, a cough suddenly interrupts the silence. Ray looks over at the doorway and blinks when he sees Mick.

He hadn’t noticed him come in.

“Birdie,” he nods at Kendra, but Ray can see a small trace of wariness in his movement.

“Rory,” Kendra nods back. And for a moment neither moves, even as Ray carefully retreats from between them.

Then Mick walks over to the counter and grabs the half-empty bottle that Len had left behind. Ray swears he can hear him mutter something like “too sober for this”.

The pyro waves at Kendra one more time before exiting the room, leaving them alone again.

“He really can’t see you,” she says after Mick disappears out of sight, sounding disappointed. Then, in worried realization, “How many times has this happened? Us walking into rooms that you’re in, completely unaware of your presence. How many times did we accidentally bump into you without knowing? God, it must have been _awful_ for you.”

A hand reaches out as she’s speaking, and Ray reacts immediately. He jerks back without thinking as he feels his heart rate spike and his breathing quicken, hands once again at either sides as he stares fearfully at the hand, and all he can think of is _nothingness_.

The hand freezes, and is immediately drawn back. He eyes dart up at the owner of the hand, and almost instantly he feels awful.

Kendra looks horrified.

“I’m…I’m sorry, Ray. I wasn’t thinking.” Her voice is full of regret.

Ray forces himself to calm down, forces himself to take longer breaths, and manages a small smile. “Hey, if it makes you feel better,” he supplies, “the whole accidentally bumping into me thing, that hasn’t happened in a long time.”

Except when he was in Len’s room.

But Kendra doesn’t need to know that.

No one needs to know that.

_**To be continued** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things seemed to end on a high note last chapter, huh? Too bad four months of isolation trauma doesn't go away just like that. QwQ
> 
> And everyone seemed to be really angry at Rip and Mick last chapter, which I admittedly expected but it still caught me off guard. I hope this chapter washed away some of that? At least I hope it did. :'D


	7. Determination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As much as Len doesn't want to admit it, the time he spent alone helped immensely.
> 
> Without Raymond in his proximity, without being blindsided by his need to protect being kicked into overdrive, he's able to take a step back and assess the situation accordingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was _supposed_ to be a brief closure for the last chapter before leading into more plot. But. Before I knew it, it grew into this. I guess I'll let you guys decide if that's a good thing or not. QwQ

As much as Len doesn't want to admit it, the time he spent alone helped immensely.

Without Raymond in his proximity, without being blindsided by his need to protect being kicked into overdrive, he's able to take a step back and assess the situation accordingly.

His hands toy with the case with the…ATOM suit? (that's what Raymond had called it) as he thinks over everything. Everything that has happened thus far. This man that was part of his life that he can't remember, that he can recall only bits and pieces of. This man that knows so much about him, and yet seems to feel guilty for it.

This man that seems a shell of who he used to be. That avoids human contact like the plague and always has a haunted look in his eyes.

By the time morning came, he is certain of two things.

One, he and Raymond were clearly close, and at one point he'd grown to trust him, hell, maybe even grown to _love_ him.

The thought of letting someone in, allowing someone to take that much of his heart, is frankly _terrifying_ , but despite everything, the past him that made this decision, the past him that he doesn't remember, is still _Len_. And there's no one's judgement he trusts more than his own.

So he's at peace with this knowledge now. He's accepted that, for some reason, he'd deemed Raymond as _important_.

Two, he's ready.

He's ready to trust again. He's _willing_ to trust again. He wants to know how it happened. How _they_ happened. He wants to remember.

He wants to find out what happened to Raymond. He wants to help him. Bring him back from whatever hell he’s been stuck in. Touch him.

He wants Raymond _back_ , and he's willing to do whatever it takes to make that happen.

With these two realizations in mind, he carefully tucks the case away again, pushes himself out of bed, and gets ready for the day, renewed determination driving him to do the morning rituals faster. At last, Len holsters the cold gun and asks Gideon where Kendra is.

Which is how he found himself in the lounge.

He takes a moment to take in the sight in front of him. The large digitized wall on the far side that serves as a movie screen more often than not is flickering, playing a display menu in infinite loops. Across from the screen, Kendra is curled up on one end of the couch, sleeping soundly, more than a few throw pillows around her and in her arms.

On the other end of the couch, Raymond sits with his legs drawn up, arms wrapped around one knee, staring ahead but clearly not looking at the screen, seemingly lost in thought.

Len clears his throat. Raymond starts at the sound and finally turns his head.

“Oh, hey, Len,” he says when he sees him, “Good morning, I guess? I, uh,” he glances back at the screen, a sheepish look overtaking his face, “Kendra fell asleep and I…I can't turn it off.”

The snort that escapes Len surprises himself. So does the sudden thought of _Cute_ that crosses his mind. Well, at least he now knows how his apparent attraction to Raymond _started_.

Raymond looks surprised as well, but then his lips tug into a small smile.

“You look better,” he says, relief clear in his tone.

“Don't look so bad yourself, Raymond.” Len finally steps into the room, heading for the screen. “So how was your me-time?”

“Not a lot of me, actually,” the man admits, “Kendra wanted me to…to tell her who I was- am, to help her remember me, but I, um, wasn't ready for that.”

“So you watched a movie instead,” Len concludes for him as he circles around the armchair next to the couch, earning a nod from Raymond.

“Well, we did a few other things before the movie. I followed her around a bit and she had lunch and dinner. Which was kinda awkward, me watching her eat. She felt bad about it, I could tell, but I convinced her it was okay.”

He pauses suddenly and winces. “Rambling. Sorry. Anyway, then we moved here. The movie was Kendra's idea. It's been awhile, since I've watched movies.” He smiles again, small and nostalgic. “It was…nice.”

Len finds himself smiling as well, and he finally reaches the screen to tap on it and turn it off, but not before realizing what movie is on.

“Empire Strikes Back?” He reads, more amused than anything. Why did they start in the middle of the trilogy?

Raymond hums in confirmation, and then, “Your favorite.”

Len blinks, then looks back at Raymond, whose eyes are wide in realization of what he had just said.

And he looks like he's just short of physically clamping his hands over his mouth to stop himself from speaking.

Ah.

Len sighs, finishes turning off the screen, and turns back to advance towards Raymond.

Raymond watches him approach, his body completely rigid, and Len can see the series of emotions flicking through his brown eyes. Panic. Fear. Sadness. Shame. _Guilt_.

“Raymond,” he says, allowing his voice to be soft, allowing himself to show concern, as he stops a foot away from him, “You know a lot about me.”

Raymond’s face crumbles, and he's talking again, fast and jumbled and desperate, “I- I didn't mean to, I wasn't thinking, I'm _sorry_ -”

“No, Raymond,” he cuts in, a deep pang of worry spreading through him at how the other man immediately silenced himself, still looking at him in fear. “Don't apologize. Listen to me. You don't have to protect me from the past we shared.”

Raymond’s eyes grow wide. Wider. In any other situation, Len would've remarked how that should be physically impossible.

“You were important to me,” he continues, “That's why I let you in. That's why I allowed you to know these things about me. I may not remember it, but there is no doubt in my mind that that's what happened. It's the only way it could've happened. And Raymond-”

He looks deep into the brown eyes, allowing himself to be sincere, letting the other man see past his walls, willing him to _understand_ , “-I want to remember you. I want to know more about you. About us. So don't apologize, not for these things. They will help me remember. Do you hear me?”

There is nothing but shock in Raymond’s eyes. Then slowly, Len sees them glisten, bright with unshed tears, until they finally close as Raymond brings his hands over his face.

“I'm not- I don't- _Len_.” His voice is shaking, breaking at his name, his whole body is trembling, and he doesn't say anything else. Len waits as he watches Raymond, letting him process what he had said, calm himself down.

Len can feel the urge, the need, to put his arms around the shaking shoulders, and he curls his hands into fists to stop them from acting out.

Finally, Raymond takes a deep breath and lets it out.

“Okay,” he says, nodding, his voice is small, hesitant, but there's _acceptance_ , “I…okay.”

Len sighs, and allows himself a tired smile.

Suddenly he catches sight of two wide eyes peering at him. He turns his head and meets Kendra’s gaze. The lower half of her face is hidden behind the throw pillow that’s hugged to her chest, leaving only her eyes visible. When she sees him looking at her, her eyes scrunch up in what is obviously a smile.

Len rolls his eyes, “Morning to you, too, Saunders.”

* * *

Ray should say no. He should tell Len that he's not worth it, that he has already violated his trust. That Len is wrong, that he doesn't know these things only because he let him. That he's selfish and untrustworthy and _broken_ and he doesn't deserve to have Len back.

But Len stands in front of him, more sincere and concerned and _open_ than he ever remembers seeing him be and it shakes his soul to the core.

And there's a small part of him, deep down, that wants to believe Len. Wants to try, to fix whatever it is they shared, to have it _back_.

He shouldn't. He really, _really_ shouldn't, but Ray allows himself to believe, allows himself to accept Len’s words. Allows himself to _want_.

Allows himself to be selfish again, just this one last time.

He hears Len’s voice again, and his head snaps up when his brain registers what he's saying.

“Kendra!” he stares, eyes wide and still stinging, seeing her watching them from behind a pillow, “I, good morning, I'm, how long have you been awake?”

“Long enough.” She laughs, eyes shining with joy as she looks between the two of them.

“I'm so proud of you. _Both_ of you.” She smiles at them. He sees Len rolls his eyes, and Ray swallows.

He doesn't feel proud. He feels…inadequate. Unworthy. But Kendra is beaming at him and Len is _smiling_ , and he finds himself smiling hesitantly back despite himself.

“Let's go get breakfast,” Kendra says, bouncing up from the couch, “Then we can go find Rip and convince him to help us.”

“We're _making_ him help us whether he likes it or not,” Len mutters, but there's only a _tiny_ bit of malice behind those words. An improvement, all things considered.

“That won't be necessary.”

Gideon’s voice cuts into the conversation and Ray blinks, just as Kendra jumps a little while Len narrows his eyes. “What exactly do you mean, Gideon?”

“Captain Hunter wants me to inform you, Mr. Snart and Miss Saunders, that he'd like to speak with both of you after breakfast. He says it's about a Mr. Palmer,” the AI happily explains.

“Mr. Palmer?” Kendra repeats, sounding confused.

“Raymond’s last name,” Len answers before Ray himself can, but then he glares at the ceiling, “Unless he's talking about the _twin_.”

“Wait, what twin?” Kendra sounds even more confused.

“I do not know the answer to that,” Gideon says, still cheerful.

“Very helpful.” Len’s tone is so dry that Ray actually wonders if he needs water for a brief second. Then he turns his gaze on Kendra, “I'll explain while we eat. There are a few thing about yesterday's little _chat_ with Rip that I didn't mention. _Then_ we can see if Rip had a change of _heart_ or if he's just asking for an _ice blast_.”

Ray blinks when both of them look over at him.

“You can't eat. Still want to come along, Raymond?”

“Or you can wait here, we'll come back for you when we're done,” Kendra adds.

“I,” he blurts before he can think, “I, uh, don't want to go to the cafeteria.”

But he doesn't want to be alone, either. Yet somehow he can't get the sentence past his lips, so he stares between them desperately, hoping they'll understand.

He almost lets out a sigh of relief when Len nods. “We're eating in here, then.”

“I'll go get the food,” Kendra says, “You stay with him, Leonard.” Then she grabs Len gently by the elbow and inches up to whisper something in his ear.

“No promises,” Len mutters in response to whatever she said. Kendra gives him a _look_ but seems satisfied, turning to smile at Ray before heading out the door.

Ray watches her leave, then his eyes dart back on Len when he sees him move, and they follow him as he sits down on the couch where Kendra had occupied before.

Ray continues to stare at Len, unsure what he should do. On one hand, he's glad Len decided to stay. The time he spent with Kendra wasn't bad, but he found himself missing Len's presence. Missing being around him, though he has no idea if it's because Len is the first person to see him, or because he's spent so much time around Len _before_ he could see him.

On the other hand, he has no idea how to act around Len now.

They sit in silence, until Len sighs. Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, he clasps his hands together.

“Look. Raymond.” There's something in his tone. Something… _fearful_. And Ray finds himself holding his breath as he waits for Len to continue. “Kendra wants us to talk. For me to remember you as soon as possible. Something about not waiting until it's too late.”

Carter’s face flashes through his mind, and even now Ray can hear Kendra’s screams, sobbing over words that she never got to say as Gideon sedated her.

“And I want to, you know that. I also want to know what you…experienced. In those four months. But.” The fear is still there, layered underneath, but his voice steels with resolve as he turns to look at him, ice blue eyes glinting with determination. “It has to be on your own terms. You don't have to tell me anything until you're ready. I want you to know that.”

For a second, Ray’s breath gets knocked out of his chest and he's overcome with pure _panic_.

This honesty, this _openness_ , Len laying himself bare for him to see, making an effort to communicate and be considerate, is new and foreign and _scary_ and Ray doesn't know what to _do_.

He doesn't _deserve_ this. _Any_ of this.

But Len is trying. The least Ray can do is try with him.

He swallows, then he nods. Then, he says, quiet and grateful, “Thank you.”

Len gives him a small smile, and they fall back into silence again.

Instead of suffocating and empty, as Ray has grown used to the silence being, it actually feels comfortable.

* * *

Kendra comes back with two plates of omelets and hands Len his serving and a fork. Then she settles into the armchair.

As they eat, Len recounts the rest of the conversation with Rip and Mick that he omitted yesterday. After he's done, Kendra is silent.

“...is that what you meant yesterday, Ray?” she asks, concerned, “that history doesn't need you?”

Len glances over at Raymond, who looks away to stare at the floor with a pained expression on his face.

“It's true,” he says, resigned and defeated.

“It's _not_ ,” Kendra insists, leaning forward, “Ray, just because something happened to you, to your existence, doesn't mean you didn't make a difference. Look at me, look at _Leonard_ , you must have impacted our lives in one way or another, or else we wouldn't have felt your absence.”

Raymond doesn't look convinced, and Len frowns.

“She's right, Boy Scout,” he adds, “from what little I can remember, you've certainly made quite an impression.”

Suddenly Raymond’s eyes snap on him, wide and unblinking, and Len raises an eyebrow at the surprise in them.

“You…” he swallows, “You called me Boy Scout.”

Len blinks. He hadn't even noticed. “It just slipped out,” he says, in part to himself. There is no reason why he would call Raymond that. He certainly doesn't act like one.

But Raymond is smiling, a bit wider than the ones before. And for a second Len thinks he's going to say more, to elaborate on the apparent significance of the nickname. But the man looks away and seconds pass and nothing happens, and Len tries to swallow the strange pang of disappointment in his chest with the food.

On Raymond’s own terms. He'd promised that.

He's about four-fifths done with the meal when suddenly, the man speaks.

“You…used to call me that,” he says, hesitant, and Len feels his own eyes widen a fraction as he looks up from his plate.

Raymond looks _scared_ , but there's _conviction_ in his voice as he continues, “You called me that all the time, and at first it drove me crazy, because I'm an _Eagle_ scout, but you didn't care, and overtime I grew to like it.”

He laughs a little, lost in the memories he was no doubt fond of, and Len finds himself captivated by that sound, yet again.

“Even though I'll always say ‘Eagle’ in response. It was something of a habit between us then.” Then Raymond smiles, almost _shyly_ , at Len. “It's good to hear it again.”

Len nods a few times, not really trusting himself to speak, shoves his fork into the rest of his omelet, and ignores the giddiness he can feel _radiating_ off Kendra.

The rest of the meal goes by in silence, and they decide to all stop by the cafeteria to drop off the plates and forks then move on to find Rip.

As they approach the bridge, Len glances back at Raymond, trailing after him and Kendra. He looks…better. Less scared. Less nervous. But there’s still that hint of guilt, in the way he’s rubbing at his hand with his other one. There’s still the haunted mist in his eyes, clouding over everything else.

But he’s better. And Len is _determined_ to see him continue to get better. Giving those little speeches to Raymond, voicing his decision from overnight, only solidified his resolve.

He _is_ going to get Raymond, and whatever it is that they shared, _back_.

_**To be continued** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our boys are actually dealing with their feelings. I'm so proud. :'D
> 
> Next chapter will contain plot! I promise!


	8. Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strong sense of deja vu hits Ray as they walk onto the bridge again. Rip isn't pacing this time, but both he and Mick are there, standing across the table, watching them as they walk in.
> 
> “Miss Saunders, Mr. Snart,” Rip nods at them, eyes setting on each of them as he says their names. Then his eyes travel around the room, as if looking for something. And it takes a while for Ray to realize with a start that he's looking for _him_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that this took me a while to get out. I had some trouble pinpointing exactly how I wanted this chapter to go, plus the fact that this week is actually ColdAtom Fall Week, which I'll be participating for a few days. Worry not, tho! I won't abandon this story. <3

A strong sense of deja vu hits Ray as they walk onto the bridge again. Rip isn't pacing this time, but both he and Mick are there, standing across the table, watching them as they walk in.

“Miss Saunders, Mr. Snart,” Rip nods at them, eyes setting on each of them as he says their names. Then his eyes travel around the room, as if looking for something. And it takes a while for Ray to realize with a start that he's looking for _him_.

But it becomes clear that he still can't see Ray as his eyes passes over him multiple times, and to be honest, the disappointment Ray can feel in his chest isn't nearly as strong as it should be.

His mouth pulls into a wry smile. What did he expect, anyway?

“Cut to the chase, _Rip_ ,” Len drawls, but Ray can hear the anger in his tone, “we all know why we're here.”

“We need you to help Ray,” Kendra adds without missing a beat.

Rip looks at her, and there's still a hint of wariness in his eyes. “Ray,” he repeats, then he looks over at Len, “short for Raymond?”

Len doesn't answer, but Rip must have found the answer in his expression because he nods.

“Right,” the captain takes a deep breath, “so the situation we have at hand right now, is that there is currently a man named Raymond Palmer or, Ray Palmer, stuck on board the Waverider, unseen and unheard by everyone except you, Mr. Snart. And now evidently Miss Saunders, too.”

“Yes,” both Len and Kendra reply at the same time, then Len smirks and continues, “and here I thought you thought it was all in my head.”

Ray watches as guilt settle over Rip’s face. “Well, Miss Saunders certainly disproved that, didn't she? I must admit that I was surprised when Mr. Rory came to me with this piece of information.” Suddenly he glares at Len, “As I was with the bottle of scotch he brought with him, that was supposed to be in _my_ bunker.”

Len rolls his eyes and shrugs at that. “Don't worry, _Captain_ , I did leave you _one_ bottle.” He looks back at Rip with a clearly exaggerated what-more-do-you-want-from-me face, which draws an exasperated sigh from Rip, a single snort from Mick, and a huff of laughter from Kendra before she covers her mouth in an attempt to stop herself.

It's not really working, and Ray finds himself smiling as well.

“Anyway,” Rip says, and Ray puts his full attention on him again. Whatever they discuss today, whatever they might find out, he wants to hear all of it. “I am going to be very direct, Mr. Snart.”

“Must be hard for you.”

Rip ignores Len's quip altogether and continues, “After our…dispute yesterday, I looked into the information you provided us, as per Mr. Rory’s suggestion. And I'm afraid I've discovered nothing new.”

Rip actually looks apologetic, “Sydney Palmer does not have any siblings. He's an only child and has been for his entire life.”

This should probably be terrifying. He should probably feel horror or dread or…or _something_ , but all Ray can feel is numb.

“Wait. Stop.” Len holds up a hand, and Ray can hear the anger back in his words as he glares at Rip and continues, “You're still operating under the belief that the timeline hasn't been _tampered_ with.”

Rip doesn't speak, but his eyes are fixed on Len in a steady gaze and suddenly the tension in the room skyrockets.

“I think,” Rip finally says, saying each word slowly, “our best bet now is to assume our additional passenger is someone who was taken out of time, by us, accidentally, _not_ a person who doesn't _exist_.”

“Who do you _suggest_ , then? What unfortunate soul had we unknowingly _kidnapped_ , Rip?” There's a challenge in Len's question, and he's glaring at Rip as if daring him to offer a satisfactory answer.

“So far,” Rip steadily replies, meeting Len's gaze with his own unwavering one, “the most likely candidate that fits all the requirements we know of so far _is_ Sydney Palmer. Or at least probably a _version_ of him.”

Suddenly Ray feels weak.

“I'm not Sydney,” he chokes out, arms wrapping themselves around his torso again. It's one thing being overshadowed by Sydney, but to be mistaken _as_ him? To _be_ him? “I'm not my brother,” he tries to reaffirm, but it sounds empty to his own ears.

He's too focused on trying to _breathe_ normally to see Kendra's worried eyes on him or Len's brief glance at him.

“Wrong answer,” Len growls. “Also we didn't _accidentally_ trap anyone on board. Raymond was part of this team from the _start_.”

“Look,” Rip sounds frustrated as he places his hands on the table and leans forward, “Your presumption that I had _intentionally_ brought aboard an eighth member is highly _unlikely_. As I've said before, the only person who fits our criteria is Sydney Palmer, but I _never_ would have recruited _him_.”

“And why's that?” This time it's Kendra who speaks up, careful and slow.

“ _Because_ he has a course set in _history_ and he's too-” Suddenly Rip breaks off, and Ray immediately sees the shift in his stance. He looks _uneasy_.

“Too _what_ , _Captain_?” Len’s voice in dangerously low.

“Too important to the timeline.” Mick finally speaks, answering the question Rip obviously has difficulty admitting.

That shouldn't be surprising. Ray knows that. Ray had known it since the first day, when Rip admitted to them that he only recruited them because they had minimal effect on the timeline. He had known since that mission in Kasnia when he heard his brother's name hailed as the father of robotics. This shouldn't be surprising.

But somehow, hearing it voiced, actually hearing the _words_ , finally drove it into his heart like a stake and Ray feels _drained_.

At the end of the day, ultimately, he will always matter less than his stupid brother.

“Raymond.” He hears Len's voice and finally looks up from the floor, looks up at the concerned frown on Len’s face. He doesn't remember dropping to his knees.

“Ray, hey, it's ok,” he hears Kendra's voice next to him, and he turns his head and sees her there, having dropped to his level to look at him in the eyes. Her hands are hovering between them, as if she wants to touch him but knows she shouldn't. “You're okay.”

“I'm okay,” he echos on reflex. Then he gives his head a shake to clear it, finding his own voice back, “I'm fine, really. I just…need a moment.”

He takes a deep breath and tries to steel himself, looking across the room. Suddenly he sees Mick and Rip looking intently his way, their eyes trying to find something to focus on and landing on nothing. In the back of his mind, Ray knows it’s because of the way Len and Kendra had reacted toward him, and with Kendra kneeling right next to him, of course the other two would try to find what they’re seeing.

But all he can think of right now is the hollow feeling of being seen through, of the eyes looking beyond him even though he’s _right there_ , and Ray is reminded why he started avoiding their lines of sight just shortly after this whole nightmare started.

“Kendra, _Len_ ,” he says weakly, and hates how desperate he sounds, “please tell them to stop looking for me.”

For a moment there’s no reply as Len stares at him and Kendra looks between Ray and the other two frantically, clearly at a loss of what to do. Then Len steps in from of him, shielding him from Rip and Mick’s unseeing gazes, and Ray finally finds it easier to breathe.

“Strike two, _Rip_.” The cold rage in those words is hard to miss. “You have one more chance to redeem yourself before I decide to use you for _target practice_.”

Ray hears the exasperated sigh from Rip before he speaks, “ _Please_ , Snart, I’m _trying_ to help you, but I _can’t_ if you insist on shooting down every logical explanation I have to offer and keep holding on to the _impossible_ -”

“Why is it impossible?” Kendra cuts him off, standing up and crossing her arms over her chest as she glares at Rip, “Why are you so sure that the timeline hadn’t been messed with?”

“ _Because_ , Kendra,” Rip is nearly shouting now, frustration clear in his voice, “what you are _suggesting_ is that a man had somehow _ceased to exist_ despite having lived and interacted with us all. Such a huge shift in the timeline would _not_ _go_ _unnoticed_. Gideon would have detected it. _I_ would have known about it!”

The outburst seems to echo throughout space as they all fall silent.

Then Ray lets out a dry laugh, staring at the floor and unable to look at anyone, anything, as a sense of helplessness wraps itself around his chest and refuses to let go.

“Guess that’s how little time cares for me,” he mutters.

* * *

Len is about ready to explode.

If he was a bit more calm, he might have been able to see that Rip has a point, but the moment he hears Raymond’s broken laughter and words all he can feel is _rage_.

“Let me get this _straight_.” It is taking all of his willpower to keep his voice from shaking with the anger surging in him. It doesn’t stop him from dripping every word in _venom_. “You are dismissing our findings because you can't admit that you might be _wrong_.”

Rip doesn't look away from him, staring at him as adamant as he's looking back. Fine, two can play at this game. Len isn't going to back down, either. Not when every word from Rip seems to tear Raymond down further.

“Gideon,” Rip suddenly says, catching Len off guard, “search all records of the timeline for Raymond Palmer.”

“I don't mean to be rude, Captain Hunter, but this is the fifth time you've asked that of me,” Gideon’s disembodied voice echoes throughout the room, “I'm afraid the answer hasn't changed since the last four times.”

“Just do it, Gideon, please.” If Len didn't know better, he'd say Rip sounds _pained_.

“Very well.” There is the pause as a series of windows of events fly past on the screen of the briefing table, and Len finds himself growing more wary by the millisecond. Finally, the flurry of movement stops and Gideon continues, “There are no records of a Raymond Palmer.”

“Search _again_ ,” Rip commands.

Another pause.

“There are no records of a Raymond Palmer.”

“What are you doing?” Kendra asks, voicing the light horror that Len can feel pooling in his own stomach. Rip doesn't look up at them, instead staring at a fixed point on the table.

“Had Raymond Palmer existed, and interacted with us, then the only way he'd be erased from the timeline is if an earlier version of him was killed, thus making it so that his future - meeting us - never happened.” Rip’s voice is steady, unwavering, and yet _soft_ , as if he's trying to break it to them in the gentlest way possible. “Raymond Palmer would have existed at one point, until he didn't. There would have been records - of _any_ kind - of him. But, as you can see, there is _nothing_.”

There is only dead silence in the room. As Kendra puts a hand to her mouth, as Mick closes his eyes and turns his head away, as Len can only stare at Rip, the words sinking into his mind like dead weights and dragging him down with them.

As, very quietly, Raymond lets out another whisper behind him, “What is happening to me?”

“No,” Kendra says, her voice trembling slightly, breaking the awful silence, “no, that can’t be it.”

She pauses, and Len chances a glance back at her. Kendra is shaking her head, her eyes shut tight, as if trying to think, “Back…back when the Pilgrim attacked us. Didn’t…didn’t you say that if we were taken, or- or killed, the day, the moment we were born, then it’d be like we never existed? If Ray was still with us when that happened, couldn’t it be because the Pilgrim went back and killed him the day he was born?”

She has a point, and Len looks back over at Rip to see his response. The captain looks thoughtful, and for a second Len feels a treacherous thread of hope run through his chest. But then it is all too quickly crushed when Raymond suddenly speaks up.

“No.” He sounds hollow. “The Pilgrim…she already tried to kill me, the past me, in 2014. You guys saved me then. She can’t- she can’t attack me again.”

Something must have been showing on his face, because Rip and Mick are looking at Len expectantly, without the wariness, and Len takes the deep breath and sighs, “He says the Pilgrim already tried to kill him and failed.”

“It doesn’t have to be the Pilgrim!” Kendra says, her tone growing more desperate, “It could be anyone else! _Someone_ had to have done it!”

“The Omega Protocol is reserved for the Pilgrim to execute for a reason. Even if they did, they would still have killed an existing person.” Rip is back to sounding apologetic, back to being _gentle_ , and Len can feel a weariness seep into his soul. “It would have inevitably caused a disruption to the timeline that Gideon would have detected, or, as it were, Raymond Palmer would have _felt_.”

“I didn’t feel anything.” The way Raymond is answering now, almost _mechanical_ , stirs something deep in Len’s soul. “I just woke up one day and I was…this.”

As Kendra relays what Raymond had said, Len takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, trying to process everything they have discovered thus far, trying to summarize it in a way that makes _sense_.

“So essentially,” he finally says, “You're saying that there are no indication of Raymond ever existing.”

“I am truly sorry,” Rip answers softly, “I’ve tried to look into it, with _every_ explanation I can think of, but nothing adds up.”

The heavy, suffocating silence falls back over them. Len can’t bring himself to look back at Raymond, partly because he dreads what he might see, and also partly because he knows the expression on his own face would betray the helplessness in his chest. Len has always been a realist, never the optimist, and despite him wishing with all his might that there’s a way to save Raymond, that belief is wavering.

He can’t let Raymond see that.

“Wait.”

Len blinks, eyes moving to stare inquisitively at the source of the voice.

“There is a way,” Mick continues, looking at each of them intently, “A way to erase a person from the timeline without the usual signs.”

For a second no one speaks, until Rip lets out a strangled noise. “What? Mick, _no_ ,” he says incredulously, “something like that is _impossible_ -”

“You don’t know everything, Hunter.” Mick cuts him off effortlessly, using a tone that Len has only ever heard him use when scolding him or Lisa, “ _Especially_ not the things the Time Bastards decide to keep in the dark. You should know that better than anyone. There are darker parts of the Vanishing Point you have never set foot in.”

“Why only tell us now, Mick?” Len asks slowly, unable to keep the accusation out of his voice. Mick meets his gaze steadily, and something in those dark eyes soften. “Because I had to be sure.”

Suddenly Mick nods at the briefing table. “Gideon, search the day and place that Sydney Palmer was born. Look for any death certificates that's relevant to him issued that day.”

"Yes, Mr. Rory," Gideon replies cheerfully, and the screen on the table flickers through numerous files again as Len and the others wait with bated breath.

Finally the files stop on one, which is then enlarged for everyone to see, and Len feels a strange mix of dread and hope spread through his entire body as his eyes scan the form.

“October 9, 1981. Sydney Palmer’s mother, Susan Palmer, filed a death certificate for an unnamed stillborn infant.” Gideon announces easily, completely undeterred by the thick tension that now fills the room.

“What?” He hears Raymond ask weakly, at the same time as Rip lets out a numb, “ _Stillborn_?” And a distressed gasp comes from Kendra.

Len doesn’t say anything, instead he tears his eyes away from the form and stares at Mick, questions he doesn’t know how to voices swarming his mind as his eyes plead at the only one who knows the answers.

Mick gives a grunt. “There’s your Palmer. Can’t exist if you never lived.”

_**To be continued** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mystery solving is hard to write. :'D
> 
> I took the liberty and chose Brandon’s birthday as Ray’s and, well, Sydney’s (which is actually happening very soon, as it turns out). Seemed fitting since Len’s birthday is the same as Wentworth’s. ww


End file.
